


Deciding What's Right

by katyb64



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - America, Greaser!John, Greaserlock, Greasers, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Minor Violence, Teenlock, diner au, mentions of violence against homosexuals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-01-25 23:42:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1666793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katyb64/pseuds/katyb64
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is a busboy at Bart's diner, run by his kind but gruff manager Mr. Lestrade. A boy comes in everyday, working on some weird overcomplicated formulas. As they get to talking, John learns that this boy isn't exactly normal. He hates slang, is whip-smart, and in complete denial about nearly all that he feels. John kind of likes it, the abnormality, and they soon become friends. Sherlock is dangerous, though, and makes John feel crazy things. Dangerous things. Things that are quite frankly illegal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired completely by "bengibbard.co.vu"'s text post that simply said "Sherlock 50s Diner AU" and I went well why the hell not.
> 
> Rating will almost definitely change as the story progresses and I feel the need to write shameless smut so be forewarned!
> 
> (it happened, chapter five yo)

Being a busboy wasn't the best of part-time jobs, but if John was going to make it to medical school it was what he had to do. Besides, it's not so bad at Bart's. A small place, doesn't get crowded much, it's not too bad a gig. His friends come in and rag on him sometimes and Mr. Lestrade kicks them out, yelled at John for the trouble, but other than that it stayed quiet. Real quiet. John sometimes worries he's going to lose it it's so quiet. Mr. Lestrade won't let him keep his hair slicked back either, made him wear a ugly hairnet over his loose sandy-blond locks. He looked stupid, his buddies never failed to tell him as much, but really, really it's a fine place to work. He has no other complaints, comments or concerns, thank you for asking.

Well... Maybe one comment, but it isn't much, more of a question than a comment. 

The question was: Who on earth is he?

That boy, the one who's there every Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. Maybe Saturdays too, but John doesn't work then. He knew that the boy had never been in on a Monday. He sat on the same vinyl stool at the end of the front counter each time he came in.

But who was he? He looked John's age, but he didn't go to the local high school, John was sure he would have noticed. He always stormed into Bart's, barking something of a greeting to Mr. Lestrade, though he always dropped the 'mister'. John thought that if he did that Mr. L would whack him one before shoving him out on the streets, and John wouldn't blame him.

Sherlock Holmes, Mr. Lestrade had told him when John had finally worked up the guts to ask. Didn't say much else about him, apparently he was his friend's kid brother. Sherlock would come in and either order nothing or a cup of joe and work on what John had always thought to be homework, but upon closer inspection was definitely not. They didn't teach anything near that complicated in high school, weird formulas two pages long. The weirdest part was that the boy seemed to enjoy them, grinning when one was finished and smirking at Mr. L, who rolled his eyes and told him to stop showin' off. 

John thought a lot about Sherlock Holmes, for reasons he didn't really get. He didn't know much about him, only that he was apparently real smart and real obnoxious. He never looked up from his work for long except when he left, nodding at Mr. Lestrade as he went. Sherlock Holmes, a weird name. Fancy, like he didn't know anything about part-time jobs or struggling to pay tuition. He dressed weird too, fancy button-up shirts and pressed pants. Not exactly in fashion. He didn't do anything to his hair either, left it loose and curly. John thought that that was probably a good thing. It was very nice hair.

A few months after Sherlock's continuous visits, John figured he ought to say hi. They saw each other every week, and John thought it might be nice to make friends with somebody who wasn't obsessed with cars and chicks, not that John minded either of those. He just didn't have the same passion for them his gang did.

So, one fine Wednesday when John was clearing away Sherlock's empty mug, he peered at Sherlock's ever growing formula and said: “You're really cookin' there.”

Sherlock lifted his dark head, showing a pale face framed with dark curls. His head was always down, nose deep in whatever he was doing. Those eyes... John didn't know eyes like that were possible. They were incredible, bright and blue-green-turquoise-yellow, even if the other teen was using them to glare at him. “What?” The disdain in his tone made John blush. 

“Uh, that.” John gestured vaguely at the paper. “The formulas. You're doin' good.”

Sherlock seemed less angered now, but still annoyed. “Cooking?” He raised an eyebrow at John.

John smiled strangely at him. It was a pretty common term. “Yeah, it means, like, you're killing them.”

“Killing.”

John snorted, couldn't help it. “Oh come on, that's not even new.”

Sherlock twitched his lips in what John might call a smile. “Fine. I just don't like slang.”

John rolled his eyes. “Well, that's your issue, daddy-o. Not mine.” He grinned at him.

Sherlock scoffed derisively at the term of address and looked back down at his paper, scribbling some notes. John took his empty mug to the back and rinsed it off before heading back out to the dining area. The place was deserted, nothing to do. Mr. Lestrade was out, running errands, so John decided he might as well talk to the mysterious Sherlock. It hadn't gone too bad so far. 

“I'm J-”

“John Watson.” Sherlock finished for him, not even glancing up from his work.

John frowned at him. “And how'd you know that?” 

Sherlock looked up at him, a how can you be serious expression on his face. “You're wearing a name tag, John. Comes with the uniform.”

“Doesn't have my last-name on it.” John countered, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“No, but your friends called you that last time they were here. 'Watson, you look so purty in that hairnet.'” Sherlock said, doing a fairly impressive imitation of John's friend Mike.

“Last they were here... They got banned from here months back, haven't been in since it's snowed.” John couldn't believe Sherlock had remembered his last name for so long.

“I don't forget much.” Sherlock murmured, looking pleased. 

“You don't say.” John said lightly, pretty damn impressed. “Well, you're Sherlock Holmes. Mr. L told me so.”

Sherlock looked momentarily confused. “Mr. L?”

“Mr. Lestrade. Runs the place?” 

“Oh, Lestrade.” Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. “I can't imagine he had much to tell you about me. Known him for years, I could tell you everything about him, but he's not quite as observant.”

A very low voice from somebody so young, John thought. Rumbling and a bit raspy, which made sense since the guy smelled like a cloud of smoke all the time. John was used to it, all his friends chain-smoked like you wouldn't believe. John hated the taste, but did it to keep up appearances. Not like there was anything wrong with it, anyway, everybody did it. “Yeah, only said your name. What are those, by the way?” He looked again at Sherlock's long, complex formula of the day. “Thought it was homework at first, but no matter how much of a bitch your teacher is there ain't no way she's assigning you that.” 

“'Ain't' isn't a word,” Sherlock stated, prompting another eye-roll from John. “And you're right, it's not homework. It's research, my own personal project. Chemical balances, I'm testing reactions. I have all the data from the experiment on this sheet and I'm just finalizing.”

John whistled long and low, impressed. “Well, don't you have some jets? That means smarts, by the way, since you're so against talkin' like a regular person.” 

“Please. Using ridiculous terms for things that have perfectly good words for them already isn't 'regular'. It's stupid.” Sherlock sounded agitated, but John had noticed that he looked rather happy since he'd called him smart. He was flushed, just a bit. It made John smile. 

“They're good sounding, roll off the tongue. 'Sides, my pops says you gotta stick with the times or they'll leave ya behind.” 

“Is he why you want to be a doctor?” 

John stared at Sherlock, mouth opened slightly. “How... Mr. L told you-”

“The medical text poking out of your backpack told me.” Sherlock gestured to the back of the restaurant, John's backpack open only slightly with just the corner of one of his dad's old medical journals poking out. The cover is barely visable.

“Yeah, he...Wow. You notice things, dontcha?” John can't get over how constantly impressive Sherlock is.

“Yes. It's called deduction. For example, I know your mum isn't around from the fact that you bought your food here instead of bringing a lunch she made Any wife who wants respect in the community makes her son a lunch. Stupid, since you're perfectly capable of making your own, but society never was logical. I know you bought a hamburger here from the ketchup at the corner of your mouth and the faint remnants of grease on your lips. Lestrade needs to fire that cook, I'm fairly certain he's skimming from the register. Terrible cook, also, but that's not as much of an issue. You have an older brother which is where that backpack is from, older style and you wouldn't be caught with something like that unless it was a hand-me-down. Thrifty, your dad. Says 'Harry Watson' on one of the straps.” Sherlock paused and looked at John expectantly.

“That was... amazing.”

“You think so?” 

“Of course! That was so far out.”

“That's not what people usually say.”

“What do people usually say?”

“Fuck off.”

John gaped at Sherlock, shocked, but Sherlock smiled slightly and soon enough they were both laughing, John holding onto the counter for support. 

Mr. Lestrade came in a few moments later, watching the two of them curiously. Sherlock was laughing. Had he ever done that before? In the years Greg had known him it had never been anything more than a light chuckle, and usually at somebody's expense. He was howling with it now, and of course with his busboy who was supposed be working. Still, Greg let them laugh a few minutes more before interrupting. “Watson! Back to work, you're not here to be a comedian!”

John went bright red and nodded apologetically at Sherlock before running to the back and grabbing a rag, starting in on wiping the tables. “Sorry Mr. L! Got carried away, won't happen again.” 

John was looking down at the table he was trying to work into a shine, and so he didn't notice the glare Sherlock sent Greg's way. If looks could kill, oh he'd be long past dead. Greg was made of tougher stuff, though, so he rolled his eyes at the teen before heading to his office in the back. Oh, how he hated paper work. 

Sherlock spent more time watching and catching little smiles from John than he did working on his formula, and though he still got it done he had no time to start in on the second one before he had to return home for supper. They spoke a bit too, John spending quite a bit of time laughing at his stricken expression when he learned of Harry's gender.

As he got up to finally leave, quite a bit later than usual for which he'd pay the price, a voice stopped him and made him jump.

“Hey!” John called, running up from the back room. “You leavin'?”

Sherlock nodded, shifting awkwardly on his feet. He hadn't forgotten to pay for his drink and he hadn't left a mess, what did John want?

“Oh... Well, I'll see you tomorrow, right?”

Sherlock frowned and nodded. “Yes, I'm here Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Th-”

“I've noticed.” John interrupted with a smile. “It was nice actually rapping with you. Oh, uh, I mean talkin'.”

Sherlock looked around, as if to see who John was really talking to, before nodding. “Right. You as well. Good bye.” Sherlock turned and walked out of the diner, a strange feeling in his stomach. Somebody had cared that he was going and when he'd be back, and not just for propriety's sake. Odd. Surprising. Sherlock did so like the surprising. 

He supposed, then, that he sort of liked John.

Huh.


	2. Chapter 2

 Sherlock stormed into the diner one day looking horridly angry, stomping his feet and dropping his head against the counter with a clunk when he sat down. "Stay away." Mr. Lestrade muttered to John, eyeing Sherlock cautiously. "I've seen him like this before, he throws things, goes ape. Just hide out 'til he leaves."

John considered this for all of three seconds before approaching, smiling kindly at the teen who John had come to consider as a friend, though it had only been a few weeks since they'd first talked. "Hey Sherlock, want a coffee?"

Sherlock looked up with such menace that John startled, taking a small step back. "A _coffee_. Why the _hell_ would I want a coffee? Are you stupid? Wait, don't answer that, I already know. Now _go away_."

John blinked at him for a moment, then sighed and sat beside him on a stool. "What's wrong?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "You're still here."

"Yup."

"But I called you stupid and yelled at you."

"Yeah, but you're upset. I'm no peach when I'm in a mood, either. Now, did something happen?"

Sherlock looked at him quizzically for a few moments more before sighing and slumping his shoulders. "I have to go to school." He muttered, putting his head back down on the counter. He wrinkled his nose and looked up at John. "This thing is clean, right?"

John rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I do my job. What happened to your tutor?"

Sherlock looked angry again. "He _quit_ to move to Canada with his wife. That's the seventh one, and he wasn't even my fault! Not that that matters to my stupid parents. Now I have to go to this awful rundown public school with a bunch of hormonal sexually-repressed morons." He pulled his transfer paper out of his pocket and slammed it on the table, sitting back in disgust.

"Hey," John said, looking at the paper. "That's my school."

Sherlock glanced at him. "It is?"

John nodded. "Yeah, me and my sister both. You'll be in her classes, you're the same age."

"Is your sister much like you?" Sherlock asked. John laughed.

"Uh, not so much. More of the fast type, jumpin' from place to place, you know. And she won't lay off the slang for you."

Sherlock slumped again, looking disappointed.

"I'll be there anyway, though." Join reminded him. "See, it's not so bad."

Sherlock shrugged.

"Come off it, I know you're glad I'm gonna be there."

"And how do you know that?"

John grinned at him. "I didn't know. I just notice stuff." And with that he went back to the kitchen to grab Sherlock's coffee, ignoring Mr. Lestrade's shocked expression.

* * *

John rarely saw Sherlock at school, the poor guy hated it there so much that he just disappeared during the day. They saw each other in the mornings, John having offered Sherlock a ride and Sherlock accepting, even though he had a chauffeur that would've taken him. John figured he just needed the support, so he picked Sherlock up every morning on his motorcycle, the best damn 18th birthday present a boy could want. Sure it was used, his dad's old bike, but John had taken real good care of it and she ran like a dream. Sherlock did that little brow quirk John had noticed when he liked something when John pulled up on it, so it was all good things. He gripped John a little too tightly as they rode, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Just close.

As predicted, Sherlock and Harry didn't get along too well, but Harry told John how amazing Sherlock was in class. He'd already corrected the teacher more than once, and the other students countless times. He wasn't well-liked, exactly, but he was obviously the smartest in the class and he already had the grades to show for it. John wasn't surprised in the least, but it still made him happy to hear.

There were some prying eyes when John Watson showed up with an unknown boy. John wasn't so popular, but his friends were, so people cared a bit about what he did. Not enough that it was annoying, but enough that he was noticed. He didn't really care, though, who was looking. He didn't really do much worth looking at, in his opinion. The other students got caught up on the stranger quick enough (though most people had been told ridiculous lies, like he was a foreign exchange student from Romania or he was John's secret brother, that sort of stuff) and the stares stopped. John watched Sherlock disappear each morning into the crowded halls and didn't see him again until after school when they met in the parking lot and went to Bart's. Except for Mondays when John had football practice and Sherlock had his experiments, they had gotten into a good routine. Well, John wished he saw the other boy a bit more, but it was fine.

John had thought he'd be happy to see Sherlock at school unexpectedly, thought a lot about running into him, but when it finally happened it was not under pleasant circumstances. He saw Sherlock that day in the parking lot as usual, but during John's free period rather than at the end of the day. “Watson!” Mike had called at him while John was finishing up (and trying to keep down) his cafeteria lunch. “Heard there's a brawl out front. It's supposed to be wild, get your ass outside!”

John had followed Mike, but he didn't really want to see two guys beating the shit out of each other. He didn't find that sort of thing to be entertaining. What he really hadn't expected and _definitely_ didn't want to see was one of those guys being Sherlock, who was on the pavement shielding his head from the two boys kicking at him.

“Get the fuck off of him!” John hollered, not hesitating before placing himself between Sherlock and the boys. Anderson and one of his friends, John spent time with them once in a while. Never doing that again. Thankfully they stopped their attack, crossing their arms over their chests and glaring at John. Mindless fucking clones, John thought. 

“Hey Watson, what's shakin'?” Anderson smirked at him, like he hadn't just been bashing up John's friend.

“The hell's your problem? He ain't done nothin' to nobody.” 

“That's a riot.” Anderson's friend said, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lighting up. “You shoulda heard what he said to Anderson's girl.”

“It was true...” Sherlock muttered from his place on the ground, and John nearly landed a kick himself.

“I don't care what he said. Leave him alone or you'll have me to worry about.”

“This asshole is your friend?” Anderson asked, disbelief plain on his face. “I don't get it, you're a decent guy.”

John glared at him. “Yeah, he is. Now why don't you beat it before I make you, huh?”

Anderson and his friend looked at each other before shrugging and heading off. “Tell your boyfriend to keep his bullshit to himself, wouldja?” He called as he slung his arm around Sally Donovan's shoulder. John heard her yelling at Anderson for not landing enough punches. It made him nauseous.

The crowd dissipated when there was nothing more to watch, Mike asking if they needed help before leaving. John helped Sherlock to his feet, wincing at his bashed up face.

“Are you okay? How many fingers?” John held two fingers up, checking Sherlock over nervously. There seemed to be no serious damage, but John was still worried.

Sherlock batted John's fingers down, wiping at the blood dripping from his nose. “Two, I'm fine. Nothing I can't handle.”

“What the hell happened? Look at you, you're a walking bruise!”

Sherlock sighed. “Apparently Ms. Donovan was upset over me correcting her several times in class. She approached me after and said 'Hey, Freak, why don't you shut up a bit, huh? Nobody here likes you, you just creep everybody out. Everybody knows you're a queer, we can all tell, so why do you just get yourself shipped off to one of those camps where they fix people like you?' and I-”

“Read her like an open book.” John finished the sentence for him.

Sherlock nodded. “She lasted until I got up to her blatant overuse of pimple cream, then she called for her guard dog.”

“Well, we ought to get you to the nurse.”

“I'm fine. I just want to go home.” Sherlock looked to the floor, giving John a stomach-churning view of the bruises and cuts to his forehead.”

“Sherlock, you need the nurse.” John said, putting his hands on his hips.

“John-”

“Nurse.” John said. “Now. Then I'll drive you home.”

Sherlock sighed loudly but did as John asked, allowing himself to be patched up. John was incredibly grateful.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock was his best friend.

John realized this one day at the diner while he was wiping down a table that had housed a couple of ankle-biters and their negligent parents. A corner was covered in ketchup mixed disgustingly with strawberry milkshake, dripping off into a puddle on the floor. He'd finished mopping and was now finishing off on the table, rag in hand and scrubbing hard to get the dark pink ketchup-shake out of the crevices of the metal siding of the table.

He had glanced up as he scrubbed and seen Sherlock there, working hard as he always, balancing equations and doing whatever else it was that he did. They'd found a nice routine, John would drive them to Bart's after school and Sherlock would sit on his usual stool (the very first one, because as he'd explained it to John “It shows that I don't want to be sat with, since body language usually isn't enough for the common idiot”) and get to work while John changed into his uniform. They chatted pleasantly while Lestrade was around and had loud, endlessly entertaining conversations when he left. 

On his break, John and Sherlock would go out back and spend time in silence, John eating a snack and Sherlock smoking. Sherlock was always the one to get John to go back inside to continue his shift. Some days John was sure that he wouldn't go back inside at all if Sherlock didn't tell him to. Sherlock had told him that that was ridiculous when he brought it up, John's sense of loyalty wouldn't allow for it, but John wasn't too sure.

John loved their routine, it was familiar and made his life far less dull, but something was missing. He'd only just realized that he and Sherlock were best friends (he was likely Sherlock's only friend) and he knew that this wasn't what best friends did. They spent time together out of school and work, because they wanted to. He and Sherlock had never done that. John decided he very much wanted to. He looked up at Sherlock and cleared his throat.

“We should hang.” He winced at the delivery. Too slang-heavy, too awkward.

“Hm?” Sherlock looked up at John from his latest set of formulas. Measuring the electrical conductivity of pig's blood, he'd told John.

“You and me.” John said delicately, moving to wipe down the counter Sherlock was working on, carefully avoiding getting Sherlock's papers wet. “You could come to my place, listen to music or somethin'. I never see you. 'Sides, all you do is work. You need fun.”

“...All right.”

John blinked at him. He hadn't expected a no or anything, but Sherlock hardly ever agreed to something on the first ask. It made John grin, Sherlock clearly wanted to spend time with him as well. “Yeah? Boss. I get off at eight, wanna stop by at nine? My dad isn't home, only Harry, but she's locked in her room with Paul McCartney all the time anyway.”

Sherlock nodded, creasing his forehead a bit in confusion at the name. John was constantly amazed at how much a genius like Sherlock was unaware of. “Okay.” He looked away quickly, like something was on his mind. John supposed he'd never been to a friend's house before. He shot an assuring grin Sherlock's way.

“Great. See ya then.”

Sherlock nodded again. “I suppose you will.”

“I live at-”

“I know what your address is.”

John smiled, then went on to wiping down the rest of the diner. They didn't speak again until Sherlock left with a terse goodbye, and then he was just gone. John wasn't entirely sure he was going to come, he didn't seem at all in the mood for it. He had no idea why Sherlock had even said yes if he was so disgruntled, or why he was now feeling so nervous about it. It was just him and Sherlock, that's how it was most of the time anyway.

* * *

 

To John's delight, at exactly nine o'clock there was a swift knock on the door and in came Sherlock, looking fancy and cocky as ever. No hint of any irritation left. “John.” He greeted, looking a bit uncomfortable in the foyer but otherwise fine. John's house was extremely different from Sherlock's, since the boy basically lived in a damn mansion and John lived in a two-story crap pile.

John was happy Sherlock was there all the same, looking out of place among the peeling wallpaper and cluttered floor. It was how John had imagined Sherlock would look in his house. He led him up to his room, seeing if that looked the same too. “I've got some records we could play. I don't know if you'll like any of 'em, but we can try.”

Sherlock didn't comment, just looked around John's house in fascination. His room was looked at with the most scrutiny, making John feel like it was messy even though he cleaned it like mad before Sherlock had arrived. Sherlock inspected every nook and cranny of John's room just by eye-balling it, and John blushed when that intense gaze turned onto him. “Records, you said?”

“Right, yeah. Here.” John picked up the small stack beside his player and passed them to Sherlock, smiling slightly when Sherlock collapsed casually on his bed. Just how he'd imagined.

“Why do all of these songs have ridiculous names?” Sherlock asked, shuffling through them. “Robins don't rock. They're birds.”

John rolled his eyes. “It sounds cool, that's the whole point. Just pick one, odd ball.”

Sherlock held up a record 'Johnny B. Goode', and passed it over. “I appreciate the wordplay.” He explained, sitting up as John turned to put it in the machine. He looked a bit uncomfortable for a moment, and John was about to ask what was wrong, but the moment passed quickly and Sherlock looked normal again. He went and started the record, wondering if it had been his imagination.

He'd barely started the record when Sherlock had knocked the wind out of him and pressed him against the wall, kissing him.  _Kissing_ him. John kissed back at first, closing his eyes and enjoying it, but he came to his senses real fast and shoved the other boy off of him.

“Have you flipped!?”

Sherlock frowned and licked his lips in such a way that John had to look at the wall rather than his face.

“I thought that's why I was here.” He was slightly out of breath, staring intently at John's mouth. “Isn't it?”

“No!” John exclaimed, crossing his arms over his chest. He was breathing heavier too, terrified at how much he had liked that. “What... No. I wanted to hang, I _told_ you. I thought we were friends.”

“Friends?”

“Yeah!” John's eyes had gone wide. What else would they be?

“I don't... have those.” Sherlock admitted, looking down. “Nobody's wanted to be my friend, and I knew you were attracted to me so I figured you'd invited me over for... that. You... you think we're friends?”

“Of course I do, stupid!” John exclaimed, not bothering to try and convince Sherlock that he wasn't attracted to him. Sherlock saw everything. “Friends hang out, friends go over to each other's pads. That's all I... that's all I meant from this.”

Sherlock thought about that for a moment, considering. “Can we be friends and still kiss?”

“Wha- No! Sherlock, that's... it's illegal! It's wrong, we're both... If anybody found out we'd get creamed. Killed even.” John was terrified just to think about it, had been since his sister told him about the boy at their school who was caught being a queer. Killed, nobody knew who did it. He didn't want that to happen to Sherlock or himself.

“Nobody has to find out...” Sherlock murmured, still very much in John's space and pressing even closer. He locked his gaze on John's eyes after another quick glance at his lips. “I know how to be careful Besides, kissing isn't illegal.”

John felt the wall digging uncomfortably into his back. He was horrified by the fact that he hadn't shoved Sherlock away yet, by how he didn't want to. He wanted to... he didn't even want to think it, but there it was. “Sherlock... look you know... I do want... I can't. Please, Sherlock, I can't, no matter how... how much I  _want_ to, but I want to go to school, be a doctor. I don't want to live in fear somebody's gonna find out about me and sing.”

“Just once more.” Sherlock started to lean in, their noses brushing. He refused to break the stare he'd caught John in. “Just once... It was good. Perfect. Just once more.”

“Just once...” John repeated, getting lost in the heat of Sherlock's gaze. The way he was staring at John, like he was the one thing he wanted, the only thing he could ever need. John was trapped in that look, melting against the wall and closing his eyes to prepare. Finally Sherlock connected their lips again, and John savoured it, since it was going to be their last one. Definitely. No matter how excellently bone-melting it felt. Never again, not even if-

“ _John..._ ” Sherlock moaned, pressing John harder against the wall and putting his hands on John's hips.

“Don't stop.” John whispered against Sherlock's lips. His self-control was gone, split, vanished into thin air, if it ever really existed at all, and John wasn't so sure at this point. John had been kissed before, lots of times by lots of girls, and it had been great. He'd done other stuff too, and that had been _really_ great, but nothing, not one of those experiences came close to the warm feeling of Sherlock's lips on his. He was so utterly gentle with his mouth, but he was always pressing with his body, like he wanted more but didn't dare ask for it. He tasted good too, John thought, like tobacco and spice and coffee. He wasn't sure where the spice came from. John flicked out his tongue to get a better taste and felt the low vibration of Sherlock moaning against his lips. It was too good, John could barely stand it. He never wanted it to end.

It did end, though, of course it did. Sherlock pulled back first, a quiet little pop severing their connection. They were both breathing hard, John looking at Sherlock with hooded eyes and wet lips and Sherlock looking much the same. “Just once.” Sherlock said again, bringing up one of his hands to cup John's cheek. “Just once, John. Is that enough?”

John shook his head. No, not enough, never enough.

“Should I leave?”

John put his hand over Sherlock's on his cheek, squeezing gently. No, stay.

“John... what do you want?”

They spend the rest of the night on John's bed, kissing slow and gentle, nothing hurried about it. The record runs out after only a few minutes and their only soundtrack is little gasps, the wet noise of lips. Intimate music.

They're both new, both a little afraid, but whenever one pulls away the other draws them back in. It's like a dance, each partner figuring out their moves along the way. Sherlock's never kissed before, but John teaches him, helps him figure out just what to do with his hands and his tongue. The lips he figured out on his own. John's never thought about being with a boy, not seriously, and Sherlock helps him by being Sherlock, the only Sherlock in the whole world. After a while, John forgets about boys and girls, men and women, and thinks only about Sherlocks and Johns, how their lips fit together and the way they breathe. They don't part until they hear the click of the door downstairs, meaning that John's father is home, and even then they're reluctant. Sherlock has his chauffeur drive him home, and John watches him leave from the porch, a dreamy smile on his face. He thinks he should regret it, lies down in his bed and expects to, but the only thoughts in his head are of Sherlock, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, the way his voice gets jumpy and excited when he explains to John his experiments, the way he tastes and the way he smells. It's like a fairy tale, a bedtime story that puts John right to sleep. No regrets. He's floating.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special super huge thank you to bunnylali and Superwholocked77 for your kind comments! You make this much more fun to write and I love you guys. Also another thanks to anybody who's reading this at all, I love you super much.

Sherlock was a hassle, much more so now that they'd kissed. He was _insatiable_ , John was sure that he was going to get them caught, and fast. He was now getting very subtly groped in the school hallways, kissed out back of Bart's, having his neck nibbled at whenever he drove Sherlock anywhere... He wasn't sure if he loved it or hated it.

“John,” Sherlock always whined when John rebuffed him, blushing and looking around. “Nobody's watching us, I promise. Just relax...”

Relax, he never did, but give in... It happened all too often. How was one to say no when there were perfect bow lips pressed to theirs, a familiar tongue probing.

They'd had too many close calls for John to relax, even when those soothing lips were on him. Twice outside of Bart's they'd had to snap apart at the sound of Mr. Lestrade coming out to say John's break was over, four times John had had to slap Sherlock's hands away when a student looked curiously their way, and once John had had to shove Sherlock off of his bed when his father suddenly came into the room. That one had taken a lot of apologizing to get past, but a few well placed touches had Sherlock coming around rather quickly.

A few weeks into what John thought might be an actual relationship, one of Mike's friends that John had gotten along with approached him. He'd been waiting for Sherlock to get out of class, since the teacher had kept him late for talking out of turn. “Wilkes.” John greeted, nodding his head.

“Watson.” Sebastian Wilkes said in return, leaning against the wall beside John. “S'been a while. You haven't been comin' out lately. What gives?”

John shrugged. “Studying, you know. All that shit.”

Wilkes laughed. “You're not _that_ much of a fuckin' nerd, Watson. Really. It's that Sherlock guy, right?”

“We've been hangin' a lot, yeah. He's real smart, helps me. 'Sides, he's not so bad to talk to. He's, like, my best friend. It's weird, I guess. I don't know.”

Wilkes made a face. “Man, I wouldn't be so sure about him. He's clever as hell, but I knew him back in elementary school. He got pulled out, he was too weird to be with the regular ankle-biters. He made, like, ten kids cry in one day. Anyway I heard he was queer, I don't want people hearing about you bein' around all that. It's disgusting.”

John glared at Wilkes. “Yeah. Sure. Have I ever told you, Wilkes, that you're an asshole? Because, really, that's about the best way to sum you up.” He saw Sherlock head out of the school, look between John and Sebastian, and then promptly storm away. “Shit. Get the fuck outta here.” John growled, getting really sick of having him nearby.

Wilkes scoffed. “Whatever, Watson. Fucking faggot...” He shook his head and walked off, John wishing he could follow and knock out his teeth. Instead he went to look for Sherlock, finding him out back of the school, scowling.

“Sherlock, why'd you run off? My bike's down that way.”

Sherlock didn't look at him. “Yeah, well you and your best pal Sebastian were chatting, I didn't want to interrupt.”

John shook his head and, after a quick look around, pecked Sherlock's cheek. “Relax, baby. I told that nosebleed to fuck off, just like I ought to've. 'Sides, _you're_ my best friend.” He grinned when a little flush rose on Sherlock's cheeks, and he wrapped his arms around Sherlock's middle. “You're kookie.” He murmured, resting his chin on Sherlock's shoulder.

“I don't know what that is. Don't tell me, I'm not encouraging your misuse of the English language.”

John laughed and snuggled more against Sherlock, trying to work him out of his funk. “C'mon, are you mad at me?”  
Sherlock huffed. “...No, I suppose not.” He finally returned the embrace, making John jump with a little pinch to his behind. “Hmph. What did he say about me?”

“Who, Wilkes?” John winced when Sherlock started glaring. Stupid question, right. “Apparently you got kicked out of elementary, but I don't care. Said you were weird, all that shit. Some nonsense about you being queer, don't know where he got that idea.” John smiled and kissed Sherlock's lips softly. It was a problem, actually, people suspecting about them, but John didn't have the energy to worry. “C'mon, sunshine. Let's get to Bart's, I have to work. We can go to my pad after, do whatever you want.” He pulled back and winked at Sherlock before leading the way to his bike, Sherlock following close behind and probably thinking lewd thoughts. The way Sherlock gripped him when they were on the bike, one of his hands drifting far too low, was further proof of that. Work was going to be a nightmare with Sherlock in a mood like that, but it was a hundred times better than him being upset.

John left work that night with a hard-on and a very smug Sherlock following him. He half wanted to ravage the boy then and there and half wanted to leave the smug prick stranded. Batting bedroom eyes from across the diner, very inappropriately licking his lips, and a horribly indecent make out session during his break left John flustered, and he'd had his ass grabbed more times than he cared to count.

“Sherlock,” He started as they stood in the parking lot by his bike. “You can't keep this up, I wanna be with you, obviously, but if you keep getting us both worked up everywhere we go... Somebody's gonna notice.”

Sherlock frowned, pressing a bit closer to John. “People are stupid. I... I want to be free to touch you whenever I want. Who cares that we're boys? I just... It's not fair.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

John sighed and pulled him into a hug. He'd thought Sherlock was just being his usual contrary self, but it seemed that wasn't so. Sherlock had been sort of an outcast for a long time, John knew that. He supposed the boy had just wanted something normal, something to be proud of. “We can't fix the world, baby. No matter how much we want to.”

Sherlock rested his chin on John's head and held him in return. He knew John was right, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

“Tell you what,” John murmured, looking up at him. “We can go camping next week. It's almost summer break, the weather's fine. We can drive out to the woods, set up a little site... it'll be good.”

  
Sherlock wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Why would I want to do that? The woods are filled with things that would like nothing better than to eat me alive, and there's no air conditioning. It's hot.”

John chuckled, going up on his toes to peck Sherlock's lips. “First of all, camping is great. My pops took me and Harry once, it was fun to commune with nature or whatever. Anyway, I suggested it because it'd be just me and you, hm? Nobody around to bug us, we could... y'know. Anything, really.”

Sherlock's eyes brightened with understanding and he finally broke into a small smile. “Fine. We'll go camping, but I'm paying for the equipment, I don't need your father's moth-eaten old things. If we're going camping there's going to be as little camping involved as possible.”

“You're such a girl.” John teased him, grinning at having made Sherlock happy once again.

“Maybe while we're camping I'll show you that I'm most certainly _not._ ” Sherlock said with a wolfish grin, making John blush. “Or tonight, if you'll stop patronizing me and get on the damn motorcycle.”

  
John rolled his eyes but did as he was asked (okay, told) and hopped on, driving off once Sherlock was on as well. He sped to his house, already planning what he would trick Sherlock into doing once they were in the woods. Fishing, hiking... he was gonna drive him crazy, and he was gonna love every second of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as we've learned from that lovely unplanned hiatus, I suck at updating. Here is a little chapter, and... Well, I'm going to camp for a month! (I'm not 12 or anything don't worry, it's an 8-18 camp) Yeah, I suck but hey I'm going to write awesome woods smut probably when I get back so... love me still? 
> 
> Also sorry for the sexist joke but John's a teenage boy in the 50's so... yeah.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DID IT  
> That's right friends, I have returned (okay I returned like two weeks ago I'M SORRY) and here we have it. Camping and stuff. And by stuff I mean sex. Hurrah!

“This is disgusting.” Sherlock grumbled as he hiked with John to the camp site, jacket thrown over his shoulder and nose wrinkled.

“It's nature.” John corrected, amused yet again when he glanced over at Sherlock. For God knows what reason, Sherlock had worn his usual attire for this trip, and his dress shoes were caked in mud, sweat stains clear through the light dress shirt. “Besides, we're almost there. No need to pout.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “I don't pout. Children pout, and I'm most certainly not a child.”

“Mm, you might want to try not stickin' out your lower lip while you say that.” John informed him before deciding to stop walking. They were in a nice clearing, far enough from the other campers that they wouldn't be bothered and near enough to a lake that they could fish without walking for hours. “Here's a good spot.”

Sherlock didn't question it, throwing his things to the ground carelessly, pleased he didn't have to hike any longer. He sat on his backpack, looking around. “It's hot.” He complained, causing John to roll his eyes.

“It's nearly June, 'course it's hot. Take off your shirt if you're sweating so much, I don't care, just help me set up.”

Sherlock arched an eyebrow at him. “Flirting already, are we?” He asked as he undid his shirt, not taking his eyes off of John as he did so.

“No, I'm just sick of your whining. Help me with the tent.” John couldn't help staring, after all he happened to have a very attractive boyfriend. It didn't make him any less irritating, though. After nearly an hour of bickering and of Sherlock doing very little, the campsite was set up and John was exhausted, lying on his sleeping bag with his eyes closed and a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“John...” He heard Sherlock say, that childish tone he adopted whenever he wanted something clear in his voice. John felt his sleeping bag shift as the other boy knelt down on it, but he kept his eyes shut. “I'm hungry.”

“Then eat.”

“You put the food in a tree.” Sherlock nudged John's arm.

“So bears wouldn't get it.”

“But now I can't get it either.”

John sighed loudly. “Just pull on the rope, it'll come down.”

Sherlock huffed and lay his head down on John's chest. “Camping is stupid.”

John couldn't help but smile as he always did when Sherlock showed his affection, resting his hand in Sherlock's hair and lightly massaging his head. “We've only just got here, baby. Give it a bit. And here,” He produced a granola bar from his pocket and gave it to Sherlock. “Now you don't have to deal with the tree.”

“Mm, thank you John.”

“...You knew I had that on me, didn't you?”

Sherlock grinned. “Either that or you were just happy to see me.”

John snorted. “I'm always happy to see you, stop being an asshole.” He kissed Sherlock and pushed him off of his chest so he could sit up. “Eat up, I want to go fishing now so we can start the fire when we get back.”

Sherlock groaned, biting into the bar. “I don't see why, we have perfectly good food. We don't need fish.”

“Fishing is fun, that's why.” John told him, getting up and grabbing the rods he'd brought along as well as his dad's old tackle box.

“You impale a worm and dangle it in the water for twenty minutes until a desperate and likely mercury-poisoned fish eats it and also gets impaled. You have strange ideas of fun.” He grumbled, crossing his arms and following John, making it clear as he walked with loud, heavy steps and the occasional over-dramatic sigh that he didn't want to fish. John didn't care, he was going to have fun.

* * *

 

Two hours later the boys returned to camp, John without any fish and Sherlock soaked with lake water from head to toe. John had been trying for a while to catch fish, his efforts proving unsuccessful. Sherlock teased him and John told him to try if it was so easy, and Sherlock accepted, even saying he could do better with only the net than John could a rod. Sherlock actually managed to get a fish in the net, but it panicked and tried to swim away, startling Sherlock with its strength and pulling him off balance and into the water. John had laughed so hard he'd cried, unable to look at his boyfriend on the walk back without bursting into giggles and prompting a deadly glare.

After Sherlock changed and dried himself he sat by the fire John had started, sighing as the sun started to set. “Camping is stupid.” He muttered, poking at the flames with the stick John had used to cook their dinner. He'd been sullen since falling in the lake, obviously embarrassed. John crawled up beside him and rested his head on Sherlock's knee.

“Wait until the stars come out, sugar.” He laughed when Sherlock shoved at his head, not a fan of the pet name. The only ones he seemed to accept were 'baby' or the occasional praising of his appearance. If in the right mood, a call of 'gorgeous' could make Sherlock go scarlet. John had called him 'flutter bum' once. Sherlock had bit his ear. Hard.

“Who cares about some balls of hot gas a billion miles away?” Sherlock said grumpily, throwing his stick into the fire to burn away.

“You can see all of 'em out here, no light to block 'em. It's beautiful, and then it'll be dark and we can get all cuddled up in the tent.” John pressed a kiss to Sherlock's knee. “You'll like it, you'll see.”

“Well... the sunset is nice, I'll give you that.” Sherlock admitted, watching the sky turn orange and pink, looking like cotton candy on fire. They watched for a while, John sitting up and putting an arm around Sherlock, gently stroking his hand over his arm as the brunet rested his head on John's shoulder.

Soon enough the stars were out, and Sherlock had decided he would get some fun out of their damn camping trip for once. He practically pounced, knocking John on his back beside the fire and kissing him, licking his way into John's mouth and teasing with his tongue until the other boy couldn't help but moan, tangling his fingers in dark curls and pulling Sherlock closer.

“Christ you're eager.” John panted, finally pulling away for a breath. Sherlock pouted, wanting more kissing.

“You've been making me wait around all day, John. I'm here because you said we would be alone. I didn't think you wanted to _fish_ for God's sake.” He trailed kisses down John's neck, nipping at the juncture between his neck and shoulder before returning to mouth at his throat.

“I didn't only want to fish... This is good too.” John mumbled, closing his eyes and humming, enjoying the attention.

Sherlock arched an eyebrow. “Good?” He licked a stripe up John's neck, making him gasp before returning to his lips to nip and suck, making them swollen and red. He loved it when John looked like that, showing what Sherlock did to him. “Oh, I'm planning on much more than good, John.”

John pouted dramatically. “You didn't even look at the stars.” He whined.

“The stars don't taste as good as you.” Sherlock murmured, not in the mood for jokes. He wanted to devour John, he'd been waiting for hours. “C'mon, I... I want you. I really, really do. We're here, alone. I don't have to hide anything. Let me enjoy it.”

John dropped the act, putting a hand on Sherlock's cheek and drawing him in for another kiss, softer. “Okay, baby. Anything you want.” He whispered, breath ghosting over Sherlock's lips. Sherlock smiled gratefully, returning to his task of kissing John breathless, slipping a hand under the other boy's t-shirt and running his fingers over his chest.

John really had absolutely nothing to complain about, Sherlock's lips were heavenly and soon enough he was arching into it, fighting to remove his shirt and get more contact. Sherlock had never bothered putting another shirt on, so soon enough they were both topless, pressing together and enjoying the feeling of more skin touching than they'd ever been able to have before. At home they were too worried about being caught, but out here... it was perfect, they could be together without being afraid.

When Sherlock started gently rolling his hips down John moaned, grabbing his hips and pressing back. He always got hard during their kissing sessions but he'd never been able to do anything about it, not until now. He knew Sherlock got aroused too, feeling brushes against his stomach, and he was happy the other wasn't going to ignore it this time. He wanted Sherlock, fully. Tonight was the night for it, John knew, and he was... sort of nervous, actually. He'd had sex with a few girls, some fast fumbling in a backseat, but this... this was Sherlock. He cared about Sherlock. Desperately. What if he did something wrong?

Sherlock didn't seem worried at all, rolling his hips down, grinding his erection against John's in a steady rhythm as they continued to kiss. It felt amazing, so John decided to relax, let Sherlock have his way for a while and just feel good.

“...John?” Sherlock spoke softly, disconnecting their lips to speak into John's ear. He never stopped rocking his hips, making his voice breathless. “I don't really... this isn't exactly my area. I've never done- you know. This.”

John ran a hand down Sherlock's side. “You don't have to do-”

“I want to!” Sherlock interrupted, wincing when he realized he'd shouted in John's ear. “Sorry.” He kissed the shell softly before continuing. “I want to, John. I really want to, I just don't...”

“You don't know.” John finished for him. It was hard for Sherlock to admit, John knew. “It's fine, baby. We'll go slow, we'll... we'll just do what feels good, right? I've never done this with a guy, so... we're on the same boat. Just do what feels good.” He rolled his hips up to show Sherlock, moaning softly at the extra pressure.

Sherlock seemed to relax after that, or maybe he was just pretending again. John hoped not, but stroked his back just in case.

After a while more of kissing and rocking, Sherlock nipped at John's lip and pulled away. “More.” He said simply, looking at John expectantly.

“...What?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “More. I want more. Do it.”

John stared at Sherlock strangely for a minute before laughing, kissing Sherlock again. “You're a dick, you know that?” He pressed another kiss to his cheek before nudging Sherlock up to sit, straddled over John's hips. He undid Sherlock's zipper, going slow in case there was any discomfort on Sherlock's part. There didn't seem to be, but Sherlock was a good pretender. “This okay?”

Sherlock sighed, sounding irritated. “I said I wanted more, didn't I? Of course it's okay, if it wasn't okay I would say so. In fact it's quite a bit more than okay, and if you would just stop talking and- _oh._ ”

John cupped Sherlock through his boxers, squeezing gently before starting to rub his hand over the bulge in his underwear, pleased at the expression on his face. His eyes had slid shut and his mouth was slightly open, breathing heavy. “I was just checking.” He murmured, sitting up himself to press kisses over Sherlock's throat while he touched him. Sherlock wanted more and John was willing to give as much as he could. “You're beautiful.” He whispered against Sherlock's skin, delighting in the little whine it caused. “You are. You're beautiful and you're all mine, hm? You wouldn't want this from anybody else, right?”

Sherlock moaned, rocking his hips into John's hand and baring his neck. “No, I- _ah,_ never have. Not until you.” He gasped out, making John smile into the kisses he was placing. If he couldn't even use complete sentences, John was doing something right. He nuzzled at his throat, pleased that he could make Sherlock feel so good. He was so tense all the time, he deserved to unwind.

After a few more moments of teasing, John slid just his thumb under the waistband of Sherlock's boxers, waiting for a protest. When there wasn't one he wrapped his hand around Sherlock, relishing the loud moan it got him before he started to stroke. “That's it, babe.” He murmured, smiling as Sherlock clearly started to lose it. “S'okay, come on...”

“John, please.” Sherlock whined, grabbing John's shoulders hard, nearly bucking into his hand. “I- I want-” He cut himself off, letting his head hang forward.

“You can have anything. I'd give you anything, baby, anything in the world.” John kissed his lips, speeding up his hand. “Come on. It's okay.”

Sherlock let out a low moan, a sound that came from deep in his throat and made John shudder it was so raw. Then he was coming, releasing into John's hand as he worked him through it, pressing gentle kisses over his jaw and neck until he was through, resting all his weight on John's torso. John let himself fall back, pulling Sherlock safely with him and stroking his hair until the last of the shivers had gone through him and he was truly spent, boneless and satiated. He wiped his hand on the grass before wrapping his arm around Sherlock, kissing the top of his head. “Okay, Sherlock?” He murmured, smiling at him.

Sherlock lifted his head to press a lingering kiss to John's lips, sighing happily. “Stop asking me that. I'm very much okay. Better than.” He kissed him again, grinning. “Now you."

John smirked. “Yeah? I was hoping I'd get a turn.” He chuckled, nudging Sherlock's nose fondly with his own.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Stop being an idiot.” He got up on to his knees, but put a hand on John's chest to keep him down. “Wait. I want to try something.”

John was a bit worried. It wasn't that he didn't trust Sherlock, it was just... Well, he trusted him to do something Sherlock-like, and that was part of the issue. “Try what?”

“Mm.” Sherlock hummed noncommittally, undoing John's jeans and starting to palm him through his underwear like John had done to him, clearly mimicking. All he knew was from John, after all. Then of course he had to be Sherlock and do something very different, so he tugged John's jeans down to his knees and mouthed over the bulge in his briefs, humming happily. John moaned louder than he ever had in his life. He would never doubt Sherlock again, never ever.

“God, Sherlock. Y-you really don't have to-”

“I want to...” Sherlock murmured, much calmer than before. “Can I?” He looked up at John, slightly nervous now. He was worried he'd done something John didn't like.

John nodded. “Yeah, Christ, of course. Just, fuck, I didn't expect... You're amazing, you know that?”

Sherlock smiled widely, then lowered himself to resume what he was doing, darkening the fabric of John's briefs with spit as he ran his lips over John's clothed erection. John was panting, eyes squeezed shut in an effort to keep himself calm. The urge to thrust up into Sherlock's mouth was strong, but John wouldn't dare. It was Sherlock's first time doing anything like this. He controlled the pace.

The pace wasn't too slow by any means, though. Sherlock grew confident quickly and decided he was done with the underwear, tugging them down and pressing his lips to John's skin. The blond sighed, using his left hand to curl his fingers in Sherlock's hair, brushing gently through the curls. “God that's good.” He moaned appreciatively, shivering when Sherlock licked a stripe up his cock. When those plush lips enveloped him, John knew he was done for, shaking with the need for release but wanting to experience the pleasure for as long as he could.

It couldn't last, Sherlock's mouth was too hot, too wet, and too impossibly skilled for John to stand it for more than a few seconds. He cried out a warning, but Sherlock was too stubborn to listen and tried his hand at swallowing.

It didn't go particularly well. The first few swallows were fine, but when it kept coming Sherlock coughed and pulled back, managing to get a stripe down his cheek before he moved and scrunching up his face with distaste.

John laughed.

“Oh, shut up.” Sherlock grumbled, rolling off to the side and lying down beside him. He scrubbed at his cheek angrily.

“I-I'm sorry-” John said, still laughing. “No, no, I- I'm really sorry, it's just-” He giggled again, rolling to the side and wrapping an arm around Sherlock's middle. “I'm sorry. I warned you, I really- God, your face!” He buried his face in Sherlock's neck, still unable to stop giggling.

“Let's see how much you like the taste of semen! I thought swallowing that stuff was meant to be erotic, it tastes terrible.” Sherlock huffed, looking down at John's shaking form. “Stop laughing at me.”

John sobered up, withdrawing from Sherlock's neck to kiss his cheek. “I'm sorry, gorgeous. I am, it was just unexpected. I wasn't laughing at you, promise.” He captured Sherlock's lips in a gentle kiss. “That was amazing, Sherlock. You were amazing.”

Sherlock flushed at the compliments, finally turning to John and cuddling up with him. “Are we going to sleep out here?” He asked.

“If you'd like. It's a nice enough night.” John smiled, pleased Sherlock was finally getting into the mood of trip.

“Oh, I don't want to. There's bugs and other disgusting things. I was going wait until you fell asleep and go into the tent.”

John smacked Sherlock's arm. “You're a dick. C'mon, we'll go inside. You ought to change, we ruined your boxers.” He pulled out of Sherlock's arms and got up, stepping out of his own soiled clothes and grabbing some clean briefs from his pack. Before he could put them on, though, he was hugged from behind by a very naked Sherlock.

“Don't.” He murmured, pressing his lips to the back of John's neck. “We don't need clothes, mm? Not out here.” He trailed kisses over to John's jaw, making him sigh.

“Okay.” John said softly, dropping the underwear and turning in Sherlock's arms to hug him. “Come to bed, though. I'm beat.”

They made their way into the tent and curled up together, John pulling a blanket over the two of them, spooning Sherlock with a pleased hum. “G'night, baby.” He whispered.

“Goodnight, John.” Sherlock replied, relaxed in John's hold. It was quiet for a bit before John, overcome with affection, whispered to Sherlock.

“I love you.”

It was dead quiet and John felt like a stone had settled in his stomach. He wanted to smack himself in the face, the night had been so perfect. Why did he have to ruin it?

Sherlock shifted slightly. “...You what?”

John sighed with relief. Sherlock hadn't heard. “I... nothing. S'not important.”

“Not nothing. What did you say?”

John kissed his neck. “I'm sorry, didn't mean to. It was a slip of the tongue, baby.”

Sherlock rolled over to look at John. “...You didn't mean it?”

“I- you heard me, why did you ask me to repeat it?” Sherlock usually despised repetition.

Sherlock shrugged, frowning. “I wasn't sure.”

“Of?”

“If it was true. It didn't sound very true.”

John sighed and kissed Sherlock's frown away, stroking his fingers through the little curls at the base of Sherlock's skull. “I love you, Sherlock. That's the truth.”

“Oh.”

“Yup. Go to sleep, would ya?”

Sherlock re-nestled himself into the sleeping bag, closing his eyes. After a few seconds of quiet John did the same.

“I... also.”

John opened his eyes, but Sherlock's were still shut. “I know you do. You don't have to force nothin', just let it be, baby.”

“Anything.” Sherlock corrected, but he was smiling softly and cracked open one of his eyes. “I love you too, John. I'm not forcing it.”

John grinned and kissed him again, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him closer. They were touching from forehead to feet, all wrapped up in each other. John kissed him sweet and slow, gently stroking his back with his fingers. He pulled back when Sherlock started nipping, he was too tired for all that. He kissed the tip of Sherlock's nose and let his head drop back down to the pillow. “Goodnight, Sherlock.”

Sherlock frowned minutely, but sighed and flopped back down. “Goodnight, John.”

Sherlock fell asleep first, John finding it a bit harder. He was in love, completely on the hook, and he was going to have to head home and leave it behind tomorrow. He could only love Sherlock behind closed doors. It made him want to weep.

 


End file.
